


An Odd Union

by Nightingalewithatale



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Protective Thranduil, Shapeshifter Loki, Young Legolas Greenleaf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2018-11-07 02:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11049582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightingalewithatale/pseuds/Nightingalewithatale
Summary: Some snap shots of Loki and Thranduil's life together.





	1. Chapter 1

"My darling?" Thranduil propped himself up on his elbow sleepily, having been rudely awakened. As he glanced around the room, noticing the disarray of his sleeping chambers, he saw his Mela en' coiamin, hair tangled, eyes frantic, moving about the room as if dancing to an erratic beat unheard by the Elven King's  ears. 

"Thranduil," Loki’s sad eyes met the king's frosty ones. "I'm truly sorry. I had no intentions of waking you, my friend." The younger royalty, disheveled, turned towards the door and began his exit. "Loki," the commanded, lowly, his tone the consistence of  molasses.  "Come back to bed. It's far too late for you to be out without an escort."

Loki shuffled into bed with a huff of irritation. "I've never in my life needed an escort. Thank you very much. I'd like to keep it that way." 

The king laughed, pulling the haughty man to his chest, breathing in his scent, pressing his nose to his dark hairline. "Of course, my sweet. Whatever you desire." Thranduil's smile faded from his lips upon feeling wetness near his feet. Gently, he pulled back the covers, hushing Loki's protests against the chilled air. "What have you done?" 

Loki shifted towards Thranduil. "What?" Loki asked, perplexed.

"Your foot!" The king slide to the end of the bed, inspecting the younger being's foot. Dried blood plastered debris, dust, and dirty to the soul and sides of his foot. Loki's brows furrowed as he finally noticed the gash on the ball of his foot. "Oh." Upon noting the cut, the prince immediately registered the pain. Muttering about mischievous  princes, Thranduil bustled about the room collecting the essentials for cleaning such a wound. He diligently set to work, washing and disinfecting, all the while tutting to himself. He tightly bandaged the appendage. He caught Loki's eyes.

"You're rather quiet. Is something the matter, my dove?" 

Loki didn't answer, deep in thought, as he gazed out the large balcony into the starlit night sky.

"Loki." The young prince's head snapped to stare at the king's face. "Is something the matter?"

The dark haired man's jaw moved, attempted to form words, but somehow couldn't. It seemed his silver tongue turned to lead.

"If you don't wish to speak now, you will tell me tomorrow."  Thranduil went about putting his medicines back in their proper places. The clinking of glass was the only thing heard until Loki softly questioned, "Do you prefer her?"

The king whirled around, tightly. "Prefer who, my dear?" He approached the bed. He tugged the soft sheets into the correct position, sliding into bed, shifting Loki so they were pressed together under the sheet, Loki's head under his chin. "Do you prefer her form over mine?"

The king shut his eyes in slight exasperation, realizing the meaning of his love's question. He opened his eyes, breathing deeply. "Of course not, my dove. The form of my wife and your form are both you. How could I prefer one over the other if they are both equal and the same?" He petted the back of the dark haired man's head, calming him. He continued. "Although, I do enjoy seeing you as you are most comfortable. Now, stop this. You only ask these silly questions when you're overly tired. Tell me, how did you injure yourself?"

Loki nuzzled the king's neck. "I broke a bottle in the healers' room without knowing, I suppose, and stepped in the glass. It must have gone through my shoe. I was needed there today. I didn't notice I was bleeding until you pointed it out. My questions are never silly, Thranduil."

The king chuckled, pressing a kiss to Loki's lips, "I am aware. We'll discuss this in the morning, preferably after sunrise. Rest now, my dear. Tomorrow, I'll be assigning you personal guards." The god groaned his displeasure.


	2. Chapter 2

"I called for my queen over an hour ago. Where is she?" King Thranduil asked his one of his servants, rather haughtily. They bowed to him, kneeling at the foot of the whirling steps. "Sire," one of the five spoke, the one in the middle. "We...Her highness is rather...mischievous, as you know-"

"Where is she?" The king ground out, his foul mood turning positively sour. The guards in the room seemed to tremble. "We are unsure, sire." The servant continued. " The queen and her highness's royal guard haven't returned from their outing."

"I see." The king said unimpressed by his staff at the moment. He stood from his throne, descending the stairs wordlessly. Brushing past his servants and guards, he left the throne room and entered one of the many halls. Quietly, contemplatively, he wandered the halls until he found himself at his soldiers' housing. As soon as he entered, the room went quiet, silent. Elves froze, the drinks in their hands stopped before their lips, and smiles dropping from their faces. 

The captain of the guard rose to greet his king, giving a deep bow, a smile on his face. They had always been good friends. "Sire, what brings you to our humble home?" The king did not answer, merely looking around the large room, cold eyes piercing through the soldiers' hearts.

"I was told, " Thranduil rumbled, dangerously, "That my wife and her guards have not yet returned from their outing. I had thought she would be safely back in Mirkwood by this time." The king tilted his head to the side. "I wish to know of her arrival within the hour, Captain." With that, he turned toward the door, cloak swirling behind him.

***  
The queen, an Elvish woman with long straight hair, black as night, burst into the room calling for Thranduil. The king hummed a short note as he read a book on their shared bed, legs crossed, one over the other. They found her in twenty-five minutes, he thought, not bad, but not good. His wife slammed the heavy oak door shut with a loud clanging thump. 

If the king were standing, the queen would be slightly shorter than him, since this was Loki's actual height. The king chuckled to himself, such a small Gaint. Adorable, really. He admired her as she began her rant about foolish kings who never let her have a moment to herself. The crown set on her head glimmered brightly. Oh, how he wished Loki would wear it in his Asgardian form! He would look stunning. Her melodious voice rang hot with venomous words and accusations, used simply to attempt to get a rise out of him. His gaze shifted down her body. She looked like royalty in her gown, but he was absolutely certain Loki could make it look devilish, lovely, innocent, and gorgeous all at the same time.

"Why did you send out a search party when I wasn't even lost, Thranduil?" The woman finished her tirade.

The king smirked, the book in his hand loosely lolling to the side as he placed it next to him, "You're lucky I didn't come myself."

He stood, approaching her. Brushing her long hair behind her shoulders with the back of his finger tips, he smiled. "Loki, you're giving me a child. I want both of you to be safe."

She placed her hands on her hips. "You think I don't know that?" Loki shifted into his Asgardian form, hair and clothes changing drastically. He sighed. "Thank you for your concern, but I've been through this before. Without any help. I'll be fine."

Thranduil's smile faded and was replaced by a frown. "You have help this time, my dove, don't forget that."


	3. Chapter 3

Legolas was small, tiny even. The babe barely filled the crook of his arm. Caressing his baby's cheek, he glanced at his Loki, drenched in sweat, looking as if he ran the perimeter of Mirkwood eight times at full speed. Yet, he was still giving a weak smile and a dazed look at Thranduil, who was carefully rocking his newborn son, clutching him to his broad chest. 

"He looks like you, my love." Loki whispered, exhausted. Thranduil smiled, gasping slightly at the revelation, because, honestly, he hadn't noticed. He was far too concerned about the child's size. Now, gazing down at the fragile bundle of soft blankets,he could see the strong resemblance, even at such an early stage. Even with such a likeness to his father, Thranduil hoped the boy shared his mother's eyes. 

Tenderly, the king placed a kiss on the sleeping boy's forehead, his beautiful boy. "He is perfect. You are perfect." The king's voice, churning with emotion, was barely a whisper, but was somehow still heard. Loki gave a laugh, looking to the side then returning his eyes back to Thranduil's hard face. "You flatter me, my king."

"You..." The words seemed to die on his lips. "My dove, you are far too good to me." Thranduil bid out. Loki shifted to his side in the large bed, peering at the king through his damp hair. Resting his head on his hand, he reclined against an unnecessarily large pillow. He hummed in agreement. "Perhaps," he teased.

Legolas began to fuss in his father's arms, kicking out slightly in his sleep. The king bent his neck, hushing him with a soft tutting noise. Loki smiled at the sudden rush of parental concern that was written across his husband's features. "Will our son grow? He is small." The god laughed, warmhearted. "Of course." He chuckled, feeling a fraction depressed. 

"There'll come a day when you wish for nothing more than for him to be small again, so you can hold him close once more." 

"Hush, don't think such things. He is still small, yet." The king bounced the child in his arms, telling Loki. "Rest, now, I'll look after our son."


	4. Chapter 4

"Ama! Ama!" The young boy called, racing towards his mother, clasping her around her legs, since it was the only thing he could reach. The woman bent down to eye level with her son, smiling brightly. Instead of the silver band of a crown that his father had long given up on him wearing ("I can't play in it, Adar! That's just silly!" The boy claimed as he giggled at his father's kind, amused expression.), the child wore a crown of assorted flowers, the colors standing proudly, contrasting against his skin and hair. 

"Oh, my little elfling! How beautiful you look! Did you make the crown yourself?"

The little prince gripped his mother's hands, nodding his head with a smile, "Yes, Tauriel taught me." Her son continued to prattle on about his friend, flowers, and anything, really, that popped into his head. They walked happily, side by side, hand in hand, one listening to the younger. As the child took a deep breath to continue his speech, his stomach gave a loud growl. His mother chuckled, kindly. "It sounds like my baby is hungry." The little boy nodded feverishly, pulling on his mother's hand, dashing in the direction of where his family ate their meals privately. 

Thranduil, standing at the edge of the room near the window, back facing the door, was reading a small scroll, the newest editions to the room going unnoticed. Loki silently shifted into his Asgardian form, while his son ran to his father. "Ada!" The boy's father turned to face his son when he felt the small hands patting the back of his robes. The king set the scroll aside on the window sill in favor of hoisting his son up on his hip and peppering his face with light butterfly kisses, as the child giggled. 

"What do you we have here?" question the father, taking notice of the boy's flower crown. His father sauntered over to the table in the middle of the room, where their lunch was set and where Loki had already taken a seat. Setting his boy down next to his love, he positioned himself in his own chair. "Tarieal taught me how to make fl'wer c'owns." His words nearing the end of the sentence were muffled as he chewed on his food. "I can see that." His father replied, with a small smile. The boy's parents could see an idea forming in the child's mind.

"Ada, what's your favorite color?" His parents gazed at the boy affectionately. "Blue, little one." The boy continued eating, "Ama," he said between bites, "What's your favorite color?"

"Green." Loki sipped his wine. "What's yours, my sweet boy?"

Legolas bounced excitedly in his seat. "Purple!" The boy happily chatted at his parents as they shared a secret smile across the table.


	5. Chapter 5

Thranduil loved his son's eyes. They held the same piercing gaze and mischievousness as his husband's, while they resembled the hue of his father's eyes. He loved not only his son's eyes, but everything that made him so unique. His smile and his laugh, his personality, were all his own.

The boy quietly slept against his father's chest, gently bobbing with the rise and fall of the king's chest. He petted the boy's head, playing with his hair. "Thranduil," said his husband, scoldingly, but without the bite, "Take our son with you."

"You'll have to be more specific, dear heart."

"Take Legolas with you when you make your rounds outside of Mirkwood." Thranduil, who had been staring at the ceiling of their chambers, listening to his son breathe, snapped his eyes to look at his husband. "He's still rather young, Loki."

"He's never been outside of Mirkwood."

"Perhaps, that's a good thing, my sweet. Have you thought of that? There are many dangers outside our kingdom." Loki huffed, pulling books off the shelf and rearranging them. "If we don't show him the outside world now, he won't understand when he's older. You want him to be well adjusted, don't you?" Loki huffed, glancing at the title of a book as he shoved it onto the shelf.

"Of course, pet, but he is still so young, a few more years in the palace can't hurt him." Loki whirled around, another book in hand. "You're not listening to me, Thranduil." He growled, shaking the thick, wrinkled book. " You need to teach him about what's out there. Do this for me, please. I'm not going to be around forever." The last sentence was spoken in a hushed tone. 

"Do not speak such absurdities." The king growled, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"Thranduil, you know very well, I am not an elf. I live a long time, yes, but not as long as you or our son will."His lazy tone did little to mask his underlying grief. The king sighed, "I will take Legolas, but not on my rounds."

Loki nodded, tightly, turning to the bookshelf once again. "That is acceptable."

"Loki."

"Hmm."

"I love you."

"I love you too."


	6. Chapter 6

Thranduil fussed over his son,who seemed to have aged in front of his eyes, arranging and rearranging his clothing, crown, and hair. "Da, I'm just leading the rounds. I've seen this done millions of times before, and I don't need this." Legolas griped, tugging his silver crown from his head, pulling strands of hair with it. Thranduil quickly smoothed his boy's hair back into place as the prince set the crown back on his personal desk.

The door, which connected the prince's private chambers to the hallway clicked shut, lightly. Loki entered the room, regally, in his Asgardian form. He only wore his female elven form if he thought it was necessary, or he simply wanted to do so. After all, everyone, elf or not, seemed to know him as a shape shifter. Even so, everyone he met in this world knew him as Thranduil's wife.

He didn't mind being marked as such as much as he probably should have, but he was fairly certain Thranduil had commanded his people to acknowledge him as wife. Though, Loki couldn't be sure. The title had bled into other cultures. Even the dwarves, Thor's own people, who had been praising the golden prince under the name Mahal, had said he was Thranduil's wife.

If Thor ever found out, Loki was sure there would be a thunder storm for over a few weeks, and a very displeased older brother hauling him back to Asgard to have his head checked, once he found him that is. He could hear Thor's voice now:  
But really, Loki, an Elf? One of my dwarves is a much better fit for you. Strong, bold, and brave. The younger god would roll his eyes, frowning. 

Loki did miss the foolish oaf from time to time. 

Upon entering the room, Legolas' eyes pleaded to his mother. The child called, only a few feet away, "Ama, help! Da's doing it again!"

The dark haired man gave a smile, laughing, walking towards the pair. "No, no, my sweet boy, you brought this on yourself, saying you wanted to go on a grand adventure." Here, Loki gestured with his hands, raising them to eye level and spreading his fingers rapidly.

"This is hardly a grand adventure, Mother." The elfling replied, sourly. 

Loki chuckled, as Thranduil chided their son. The dark haired man remarked, almost to himself. "It's enough for now."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Frigga's death, Thranduil is left with a mourning husband.

“Adar, tell me it's not true.” Thranduil’s wet eyes examined his son’s pleading face, his desperate expression cracking his beautiful facade. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” His own words held the weight of an ocean, ripping and stinging at his tongue as he spoke. 

Legolas, his son, his baby, his little Greenleaf, threw an accusing stare at him, tears forming on the brims of his lower eyelids as he choked on his words. “Why? Why did you - Why - Why did he leave?”

Thranduil opened his arms slightly, an invitation if his son wished for comfort from his father. “His brother needed aid.”

Legolas stepped towards him, a challenge, a finger in his king’s face. “You could have stopped him. You are a king of Elves. They would yield to you, and spare your husband, my mother, the trails of battle.” He seethed, the angry echo of his voice reverberated in the throne room. Blinking slowly, wiping all emotion from his face, Thranduil gazed at him from shaded eyes. “Do not speak of what you do not know.” His words were quiet and warning.

Thranduil knew his son and the boy’s heart as well. He would do whatever he thought right. He would speak his mind as he saw fit, having yet to learn to hold his tongue and to conceal his emotions. A slight twitch in his child’s right cheek revealed his irritation and anger. “You don't understand what I know.” 

Grabbing his son’s chin, he tilted his face up as if he were once again a child. Thranduil almost laughed. The boy was in dire need of a good scolding. In a quiet, not quite soothing voice, the king remarked. “Will you hold your tongue or shall I do that for you?” He let the threat hang in the air before dropping his son’s chin and scoping him to his chest, their foreheads touching. “My sweet Elfling, do not think yourself too old for punishment from me.” 

They stood there for a moment, taking comfort in each other. “He will return, Legolas. Do not worry.” Thranduil hated himself for uttering those words. Perhaps if he hadn't, his queen would have returned unharmed and unbloodied. 

Upon his return, Loki only smiled at them hollowly, blood crusted on his lips and hands, some still staining his hair, and murmured a tired sigh, tears pouring from his eyes. “My mother is dead.” His mournful smile quivered. “I wasn't allowed to attend her funeral. I couldn't tell her goodbye.” 

Thranduil could only attempt to muffle Loki’s mourning screams and wipe his face and body clean as he threw up, his exertion overtaking him. The King of Mirkwood petted his husband’s hair, vowing to stay at his side until he could speak without tears.


End file.
